Two Billionaires Begged Me To Come Back

My mind went blank.

The bouquet of roses I'd carefully picked out tumbled to the ground.

I was shaking from head to toe, my teeth chattering.

"N-no, that's not — I got the wrong person..."

My voice came out barely above a whisper.

But Dominic just laughed — a dark, amused grin that dripped with menace.

He caged me between himself and the basketball hoop, his hot breath fanning over my ear.

"Wrong person?"

"Then tell me — this 'Lucas' you're looking for, what does he look like?"

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I just stared down at the tips of my shoes.

"He... he's also wearing a white T-shirt."

"Hah."

Dominic let out a mocking scoff.

He lifted his hand, gripping my chin, forcing my face up toward his.

"Then take a good look. Who am I?"

I was forced to meet his eyes — black as an abyss, churning with emotions I couldn't begin to read.

"Dom... Dominic Blackwood."

"Good. Remember that."

He gave a satisfied nod. Then, right there in front of everyone passing by, he bent down and picked up the roses from the ground.

"Nice flowers. I'll keep them."

"No, you can't —"

Before I could finish, I spotted someone walking toward us in the distance.

It was Lucas.

The real Lucas Sterling.

He was wearing a white T-shirt identical to Dominic's, tall and composed, with an air of cool detachment.

He saw me tangled up with Dominic, and his footsteps faltered.

In those eyes — always so calm, so indifferent — a flash of something I'd never seen before: disappointment, and an icy coldness.

My heart felt like it had been stabbed by a needle.

Dominic clearly noticed where I was looking.

He followed my gaze, then deliberately pulled me closer against him.

He flashed Lucas a provocative smirk.

"What are you looking at?"

"She's mine."

Lucas's gaze lingered on my face for less than a second before it moved away, smooth and indifferent, as though I were a stranger who meant nothing at all.

He turned and walked into the darkness.

My world went dark with him.

The next day, I became the most talked-about girl in school.

Not because of my grades. Not because of my looks.

Because someone had pinned a notice to the hallway bulletin board, scrawled in the most reckless handwriting imaginable.

"Elara Pemberton — my girlfriend. Touch her and see what happens."

Signed with a flourish: Dominic Blackwood.

I rushed to the board, desperate to rip it down, but a crowd had already gathered, pointing and whispering.

"That's her? She's so... plain. How'd she end up with Dominic Blackwood?"

"I heard she threw herself at him on the basketball court last night. Totally shameless."

"Please. She's obviously a gold-digger trying to ride his coattails."

Overnight, I became enemy number one to every girl at Westfield High.

Back in the classroom, my textbooks had been thrown on the floor, shoe prints stamped across the covers.

When I went to get water, someone "accidentally" bumped into me, and hot water spilled all over my hand.

When I walked down the hallway, someone stuck out a foot and sent me sprawling.

I found Dominic and told him to take down that notice.

He was on the basketball court with his friends, shirtless, sweat sliding down the hard lines of his muscles.

When he saw me, he let out a whistle and tossed the ball aside.

"Well, well. My girlfriend's here to check up on me?"

I stood there with red-rimmed eyes and slammed my ruined textbooks down in front of him.

"Dominic Blackwood, what the hell do you want? Take that notice down! We are nothing to each other!"

The grin slowly faded from his face.

He backed me into a wall, step by step, his tall frame casting me entirely in shadow.

He pressed me against the bricks, his voice dropping low. "You started this. Now you see it through."

"I didn't start anything!"

"Yes, you did."

He stared me down, unblinking. "The second you put your hands over my eyes, you sealed your fate."

I closed my eyes in despair.

At lunch, the moment I walked into the cafeteria, Dominic grabbed my wrist.

He pulled me, under the weight of countless stares, to his usual seat — the one nobody else dared to claim.

He pushed his tray in front of me, piled high with food.

"Eat."

It was a command, not an offer.

I had no appetite, and I certainly didn't want anything from him.

I reached to push the tray away, but he stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and held it up to my lips.

"Open your mouth."

His voice was quiet, but it carried an authority that left no room for argument.

The air around us seemed to freeze.

Every pair of eyes in the cafeteria was fixed on us.

I squirmed, my face burning with embarrassment.

"Dominic, please don't do this..."

I lifted my head — and my gaze cut through the crowd to land on Lucas Sterling, standing not far away, his eyes cold as ice.

He was holding a tray of his own, just standing there, watching me.

As though he were watching a scene that had nothing to do with him.